Under Currents Page 6

  “I didn’t—”

  “You don’t even have to say it.” Still stroking, Emily cut off Zane’s denial. “I know you, Zane.”

  “You have to look after Britt.”

  “I will.”

  “You have to promise. Don’t let him hurt her.”

  “I swear it to you on my life, you hear me? I won’t let him hurt her again, whatever it takes. You have to hang in for me, my man. I’m getting you a lawyer. Dave and I, your grandparents, and people who know you, we’re all going to do everything to get you out of that place.”

  “It’s just jail. That house, it’s been jail a long time.”

  “We’ve got to take him out, Emily. You’ve got to move back.”

  “I believe you, Zane, and I believe in you. You believe me when I promise you, on my life, I’m going to fix this.”

  She kissed his bruised cheek, made herself straighten and move back.

  When she watched them wheel him around the corner, she turned her face to the wall, wept. And weeping, fumbled her ringing phone out of her pocket.

  * * *

  Britt woke in the dark, moaned, lifted her fingers to her throbbing cheek. The light snapped on, and her father stood beside her bed.

  Hospital, she realized. Her father’s face had bruises, a blackened eye. His lip was swollen.

  And his eyes peered out cold and mean.

  “This is what’s going to happen,” he said. “When the police come to speak to you in the morning, you’ll tell them your brother hit you. He hit your mother, and knocked her down. He hit you. You don’t remember much after that. Your mother screaming for me, but you threw up and got dizzy. Do you understand?”

  Be smart, Zane always told her. Be smart, be careful.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You saw me fighting Zane, were frightened. You ran to the phone to call for help. He got past me for a moment, struck you again. That’s all you know. Is that clear?”

  He did that to your face. I’m glad he did that to your face. “Yes, sir.”

  He leaned down close, and her heart beat like birds’ wings in her throat. “Do you know what will happen if you say anything else? Do you think your face hurts, your head hurts now? It’s nothing. Your mother and I have told the police what Zane did. They, of course, believe us. Zane should be on his way to prison very soon.”

  “No, please—”

  He slapped a hand over her mouth, squeezed just a little. “Your brother is lost to us. Something’s wrong with him, with his mind. He’s probably on drugs. He attacked his family, and will remain in prison until he turns eighteen. He will be forbidden to contact you, or you him. He will not be allowed in our home again. Do you understand? Nod.”

  She nodded.

  “Very bad things can happen to a young girl who disobeys her father. Especially if her father’s a doctor. You don’t want to find out what those very bad things are.”

  He let her go, took a step back, shot out a smile. “Cheer up. It’ll be like being an only child. You’ll get all the attention, all the benefits. Think about that.”

  He walked to the door. “Oh, and your aunt won’t be visiting. I’ve told the nursing staff to keep her away. She’s been a bad influence, I’m afraid. In fact, I wonder if that’s where Zane picked up his drug habit. Rest now. You’ll be able to go home in the morning. I’m going to go sit with your mother, and get some sleep myself.”

  When he closed the door, Britt lay very still. She could hear her breath panting, so quick and fast it made her ears buzz. She had to slow it down. Chloe’s mom went to yoga classes, was always talking about breathing. Britt tried to get through the buzzing and remember what Mrs. Carter said when she and Chloe did yoga with her.

  Because she had to get out, had to get away. She couldn’t go home, not with him. She couldn’t be alone, like an only child.

  Her breath started to speed up again, and tears wanted to come, but she tried really hard. He said Zane was going to prison. She had to do something. But if the police believed her parents, why would they believe her?

  And her face hurt. She just wanted to go to sleep until it all went away.

  But it wouldn’t, it wouldn’t go away, and she couldn’t go to sleep. Maybe the police wouldn’t believe her, but Emily would. Maybe Mrs. Carter would. Maybe.

  She got up slowly, crept and felt her way across the room until she found the bathroom. She turned on the light, closed the door except for a crack so she could see better.

  She couldn’t find her clothes, her shoes. She didn’t have a phone in the room. He’d taken them. He would have thought of that. He thought of things.

  But so did she, Britt told herself. And the thing she thought of first was: Find a phone.

  She went to the door, opened it a crack, too. More light, a little sound, but not much. Mostly quiet. She didn’t know what time it was—he’d taken her watch, too—but it had to be really late. Or really early.

  Heart hammering, she slipped out of the room in her bare feet and hospital gown, dashed across the hall, slipped into another room.

  Two beds, but only one person. Another kid, she realized. Younger than her. And a phone on the table by the bed where he slept. She took the phone as far away from the bed as she could, sat with it on the floor, and called Emily. Nobody answered, and she wanted to cry again when the machine came on.

  But she had another number in her head. Emily’s cell phone. If that didn’t work …

  “This is Emily.”

  “Emily.” As she had countless times with Zane, Britt whispered. “You have to help us.”

  “Britt! Oh God, Britt. They wouldn’t let me see you. Are you okay?”

  “Nothing’s okay. You have to help. Dad said Zane’s going to prison. He said I couldn’t tell what happened or he’d hurt me worse. It wasn’t Zane, it was Dad.”

  “I know. I know, baby. Tell me your room number. I’ll find a way to get in. I’m here. I’m in the ER right now.”

  “You’re—you’re here.” Tears spilled then, shoved out of her by terrible hope. “You’re here.”

  “I’m here. I’ll come get you. What’s your room number?”

  “I’m not there. He took my clothes and shoes. He took out the phone. I went into another room where a kid’s sleeping. Don’t come up! Everyone will do what he says. They’ll send you away, and they’ll tell him. I’m coming down the stairs.”

  “Britt—”

  “I can get to the stairs, and I’ll walk down.”

  “Which staircase? Do you know?”

  “This is room…” She turned the phone more to the light. “Room 4612. It must be pediatrics because there’s a kid.”

  “Okay. I’ll go to that staircase. If you aren’t down in five minutes, I’m coming up.”

  “I’m coming down. I’m coming now.”

  She started to leave the phone on the floor and run, just run. But stopped herself, thought it through. If a nurse came in, the phone should be where it belonged. And just running out? She might get caught.

  She put the phone back, froze when the little boy stirred and whimpered in his sleep. At the door she heard the sound of brisk footsteps passing by, waited, waited until they faded away before opening the door a crack.

  Then wider so she could ease out enough to look up and down the corridor. She saw the sign for the stairs—so far away! She’d run, had to run. But quiet.

  She heard a call bell ding, and like a runner off the mark, sprinted down the corridor. The stairway door, heavy, seemed to push back at her, but she got through, and kept running.

  Somebody could come. He could come. They’d take her back, they’d tell him. He’d stick her with a needle again. Hit her again.

  She got all the way down, breath wheezing, but Emily wasn’t there. Drained, desperate, she sat shaking on the steps.

  Maybe he’d found Emily. Hurt her. Stopped her. Maybe he’d—

  The door opened; Britt’s hands flew to her mouth to hold back a scream. And Emily
rushed to her, gathered her up.

  “Oh, Britt, oh, sweet baby.” Pulling back a little, she looked at Britt’s face, the black eye, the bruised cheek. “Oh, that filthy, fucking bastard. Put this on.”

  She stripped off her hoodie. “I would go for orange. Keep the hood up. We’re going to walk—not run—walk, steady and direct, to the exit. There aren’t many people around, and we’re just going to walk out, keep walking to my truck. It’s in the ER lot, but once we’re outside, we’ll be okay.”

  “You came. You came.”

  “Of course I did. We have to go. Hold my hand, keep your head down. Just walk. Don’t talk, don’t stop. Ready?”

  Nodding, Britt gripped her hand.

  They walked, Britt in the orange hoodie, bare feet, flowered hospital gown. And at one in the morning, no one gave them a second look.

  Outside, Emily slid an arm around Britt’s waist. The girl had shot up, she realized, and stood nearly as tall as she did. Growing like a weed. One she hadn’t seen in weeks.

  “I should’ve given you my shoes.”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay. Is it much farther?”

  “Not much. We’re fine. We’re fine.” But her voice shook a little, and Britt heard it. “We’re going to get to the truck, and we’re going to go to the police.”

  “No! They believe him. They put Zane in jail.”

  “Not the Lakeview police. The Asheville police. And we’re going to make them believe us, Britt. Dave—Mr. Carter’s going to help.”

  When her knees went weak, she staggered a bit. “Chloe’s daddy? He—he’s helping?”

  “That’s right. I’m going to call him when we get in the truck, tell him you’re with me. He’s getting Zane’s notebooks.”

  “What notebooks?”

  Doing her best to keep out of the light, Emily kept steering the girl forward. “I’ll explain.”

  “Was he hurt really bad? Zane?”

  “Yes. But he’s going to be okay. And we’re not going to let them keep him in jail. I’m getting him a lawyer, first thing in the morning. You’re going to tell the police everything. Nobody’s going to hurt you again, baby. I swear it.”

  “I’m so scared.”

  “Me, too. There’s my truck.”

  Maybe her hands shook as she unlocked it, as she helped Britt inside. But her mind held clear and steady.

  Graham Bigelow wouldn’t put his hands on her niece again, whatever it took. She fumbled out her phone as she got behind the wheel.

  “Dave. I have Emily. I’m taking her to the Asheville police.”

  “You—how did you—never mind. I have the notebooks. I’ll meet you there.”

  Not much traffic, Emily thought as she kept carefully to the speed limit. And probably no one looking for them yet. They’d be fine, just fine, just fine. Unless they locked her up for kidnapping.

  She reached out to squeeze Britt’s hand as much to reassure herself as the girl. “I’m not going to ask you questions now, because I want you to say everything to the police. So it’s not like we, I don’t know, made it all up together.”

  Inside the orange hood, Britt’s bruised face looked so small, so pale. “What if they don’t listen?”

  “We’ll make them listen.” They have to listen.

  She drove straight to the police station, parked. Nobody else in the visitor’s lot, she noted, and couldn’t decide if that was good luck or bad.

  “Okay, Britt, you just tell the truth. You tell all the truth, and it’s going to be okay.”

  “He made us lie all the time. We had to lie to you all the time.”

  “He can’t make you lie now.”

  Once again she took Britt’s hand, and they walked to the station house. As they did, a man walked out. Britt’s hand squeezed hers hard.

  He looked tired, Emily thought, and his suit jacket looked as if he’d slept in it. A good day’s worth of scruff gave his face a rough, tough sort of look. He paused, watched them come—the woman in red Converse high-tops, with disordered dark hair, faded jeans. The girl with a battered face and bare feet.

  She couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but knew they assessed.

  “You need some help?”

  Britt spoke before Emily could. “Are you the police?”

  “That’s right. You got trouble?”

  “We have a lot of trouble.” Brown, Emily noted, his eyes were brown like his hair. “Do you have identification?”

  His eyebrows lifted, but he reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat, took out his badge.

  “Detective Lee Keller. Why don’t you come in, tell me what the trouble is?” He gave Britt a look that had hope trembling inside Emily. “You look like you could use a soda. Let’s go get you one.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Detective Lee Keller assumed the exhausted woman was the kid’s mother. But he set that aside. He knew it was better not to assume.

  He didn’t have to assume the fear. It was all over both of them. He didn’t have to assume somebody had hit the girl, put her in the hospital. He could see her face, the hospital gown.

  He led them through a lobby area, waved off a question from the officer at a counter, and kept going.

  He stopped by a vending machine. “What kind do you want?”

  “I … Could I please have a Sprite?”

  “Sure.” He glanced at Emily. “You want really bad coffee or a cold soda?”

  “I’ll take a Coke. I have change.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He slid dollars in the bill slot, got the Sprite, two Cokes.

  He led them down another corridor, then another, and into an area marked Criminal Investigations Division.

  He pulled over a couple chairs from other desks, sat at another. “Have a seat. Why don’t we start with your names?”

  “I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want to tell him yet.”

  Emily shifted over to drape an arm around Britt’s shoulders. “Honey—”

  “It’s okay,” Lee decided. “How about we start with who hurt you?”

  “My father.”

  “Has he hurt you before?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.” The woman pressed her lips to the top of the girl’s head. “Baby.”

  “Just slaps before, or pulling my hair really hard. I didn’t tell … my brother. I didn’t tell him because if he tried to stop him, he’d get hurt worse.”

  “Where’s your brother?”

  When Britt shook her head, Emily cupped her chin. “Detective Keller can’t help if you don’t talk to him, if you don’t tell him. Remember? All the truth.”

  “You left the hospital without your shoes,” Lee commented in that same easy tone, “without your clothes. You must’ve been afraid.”

  “I called nine-one-one, and he grabbed the phone, and hit me in the face. He hit me before that because I threw up. I was scared because he was getting mad. I could hear him going off about Za—about my brother. He went to a school dance, and I don’t know why that made my father so mad, but it did. My mother went to bed, but he stayed up. And I could tell he was going to hit my brother when he got home.”

  “Does he do that a lot?”

  “He hits my mother and my brother.”

  “I’m not her mother, I’m her aunt,” Emily said at Lee’s narrowed look. “I didn’t know about any of this before tonight. I should have, but…” She shook her head. “Tell him everything.”

  “When my brother got home, he started. He said my brother was late. Four minutes, do you get it?” Sudden passion spiked in her voice. “Four minutes, and he made it like Zane had done something criminal, right? He said he was grounded, no sports, and that means he couldn’t go to States—the baseball championship. He started accusing him of drinking, doing drugs. He doesn’t! And he said awful things about Zane’s girlfriend. And she’s nice, but he said things, started shoving Zane, hit him in the stomach.”

  She gripped the can of soda tight. “He mostly hits where it wo
n’t show. I don’t know why I ran in to my mother. I knew she wouldn’t help, but I did anyway. And I got sick, and she got mad, and she yelled for Dad, and he got mad. And he came up and hit me.”

  Beside her Emily sat silent, shoulders shaking as tears rolled.

  “That’s when Zane ran upstairs, and he hit Dad. He did it to stop him from hurting me. That’s defense of others, right? You don’t go to jail for that. They shouldn’t put you in jail for that. And they had an awful fight, hitting and hitting, and Mom pushed and scratched Zane’s face, but Zane didn’t stop. And my Dad hit Mom in the face, and I ran to the phone and called nine-one-one, and I heard Zane yell, and thuds. Awful thuds. I think he fell down the steps. Dad came in, and hit me again, and he told Mom to get his bag—he’s a doctor. He told her to hold me down because I tried to fight, and he got out a syringe, and stuck me.

  “That’s the truth. That’s what happened.”

  She sat back, closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, stared hard into his. Crossed her arms defensively.

  “Okay.” Careful, Lee only nodded. “Did the police come?”

  “They must have, but he gave me something, and when I woke up in the hospital, he was there, waiting. He said what I had to say. That Zane had hit Mom, hit me, hit him. That if I didn’t say what he said, he could hurt me worse than he had. No one would believe me if I said different, and Zane was already on his way to prison. I’d be like an only child. He took the phone out of the room, and he told the nurses no one could come in, and he went to get some sleep. I think they put Mom in the hospital.”

  Lee filed away the details, including the brother’s name—Zane—the father being a doctor. The brother an athlete—must be baseball if he was going to States. And high school, older brother.

  “Tell me about your mother.”

  “He never hits her where it shows, until tonight. Sometimes she hits back, but it’s…” Color rushed into her face. She pressed her lips together, gave Emily a pleading look.

  “It’s all right. You just say the truth, and it’s all right.”

  “It’s that … I think they like it. I think she likes it. They have sex after most of the time, and then she acts like nothing happened. He buys her something, and she’s like nothing happened.”